


France

by harlequin87



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Homophobia, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 13:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: Owen protects his best friend (and Nigel Owens is a willing accomplice).





	France

The locker room before the France game was quiet. Post-Scotland, everyone knew the importance (to the team, the management, for the World Cup) of getting a win. Most players were sitting, silent, in their stalls, eyes fixed on the floor. Owen was running through his pre-game speech in his head: determination, drive, and most of all, discipline. Eddie and the coaches had been talking about it all week; if the French players could get in their heads, they would. Owen’s main concern was Marler – the prop had a reputation for belligerence, and France would try to exploit it. He was on the bench to start with, but that wouldn’t help once the front row began to tire. Owen sat up straighter and looked around the room, a general surveying his troops before the battle. Everyone seemed relaxed enough, apart from Ben and George. Huddled in the half-backs’ corner, they were whispering tightly with heads tipped together. Owen heard the name ‘Bastareaud’ and knew instantly what they were talking about.

He stood and beckoned to George to follow him. They went into the visitors’ physio room – not much more than a broom cupboard – and faced each other. Owen reached out and caught his friend’s hand. “George, are you okay? I heard you talking to Ben about – him.”   
George shuddered and leaned in to Owen’s chest. “Not really. If he says something... I don’t – I can’t –” He broke off, wrapping his arms around the captain’s waist. His voice was muffled when he next spoke. “I’ll probably start crying, and then God knows what’s going to happen.” They clung together, shakily inhaling and exhaling, for a brief minute before Eddie’s voice started echoing from the locker room.   
Owen bent down so their foreheads were touching, speaking in an urgent tone. “Georgie, I promise I’ll look after you. As your captain and as your best friend, I will protect you. If that – that man says anything remotely offensive, he’ll get it right back.” He kissed George’s cheek gently, carefully. “Also, I spoke to Nigel Owens during the coin toss, and he’s going to have something to say if Bastareaud starts being homophobic again.”  
George smiled wanly. “Good old Nigel.” Their hands were linked, almost as a way to keep grounded among all the swirling emotions.

Eddie’s voice was rising in an impassioned crescendo, and Owen stepped away slowly, with a last squeeze of George’s hand. “I suppose that’s my cue. Come on, mate – it’s showtime.” They slipped out of the physio room and back into the main changing room. George went back to his stall while Owen took his place next to the coaches at the head of the room. When Eddie finished his piece, the fly half moved forwards to give his speech. It was pretty typical no-guts-no-glory fare, until the final sentence. “And, just so you know, if Bastareaud says or does _anything_ – he’s mine.” The team lined up to head into the tunnel, and Owen pulled George directly behind him. They walked out of the locker room, and everything suddenly felt a bit looser, more untethered. The solid weight of George at his back was an anchor in the storm, and Owen could breathe more easily.

The match itself was initially underwhelming – a 9-9 tie at the break, no tries and no moments of great excitement. George looked over at Owen as they headed in for the team talk and they shared a smile, a small sign of the lessening tension felt by the whole team. There hadn’t been any fights up to that point, and it almost seemed as if the French had decided against it for the day. Owen didn’t know whether to be happy about that or not. Obviously, it was better to avoid conflict and the risk of being sent off, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted to send a message to Bastareaud. As the break drew to a close, a thrumming energy built up beneath Owen’s skin, almost demanding to be released.

As they jogged out onto the field for the second time, Anthony Watson ran up beside Owen and nudged him. “If you want to go for Bastareaud, I’m happy to hold people back.”   
The captain snorted and shrugged. “I’m happy to take them all, but any assistance would be appreciated – although perhaps it would be more useful later when Eddie yells at me for punching someone else in the face!” They grinned in at each other, and the half began. The earlier consensus of a ceasefire appeared to have ended, with Frenchmen of all positions and numbers gunning for George. Owen felt his hackles rise, but there was an element of excitement in his anticipation. He knew that, at some point, Bastareaud was going to crack. And when he did, Owen would be right there waiting for him.

The long-awaited moment finally arrived in the sixtieth minute. The French had a scrum on their own ten-metre line, and the French centre was lined up opposite George. Tauleigne picked the ball up from between the legs of the locks, span it out to Bastareaud and it was on. The Frenchman charged forwards, head lowered like a bull. Owen could see George bracing for the impact, but he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. Bastareaud smashed into the fly half, sending him crashing to the ground. But George grabbed hold of his ankle, and he followed suit. “Get off me, you fucking faggot!” Bastareaud snarled, arching towards the English player. Owen flashed a look at the referee, who nodded in acquiescence – saying ‘yes, I heard that too, please hit him so I don’t have to’. God, Owen loved having other gay men on the field with him. There was a kind of brotherhood formed by sharing in the casual ‘banter’ of rugby life, and permitting the minor assault of a homophobe was one way of consummating that bond.

Owen plunged forwards, hauling the Frenchman to his feet and shaking him to emphasise each word. “Shut up, mate, or this will be a lot worse for you.” Bastareaud’s eyes widened as he realised what was about to happen, and they practically bulged as Owen pulled back his arm. He had some vague idea of the tumult around them, but in that moment, it was just Owen, George lying open-mouthed at his feet and the man that hurt his best friend.

The crunch made by Bastareaud’s nose as Owen’s fist connected with it was just as good as he’d reamed, if not better. The sting of his knuckles as he was dragged away by Chris and Courtney was the best kind of righteous pain. While Nigel Owens was consulting with the TMO about the cause of the incident (despite knowing full well what had happened), Owen made his way over to George, whose ankle was being meticulously massaged by one of the team medics. “How’re you doing, buddy?” Owen asked, crouching down next to him.   
George pulled his hand to his lips and pressed a light kiss to the reddening knuckles. “Much better thanks to you, my knight in shining armour.”  
“Swing low sweet chariot indeed,” Owen beamed. He could practically feel Eddie’s laser gaze trained on his back, but it was worth it to see the grateful look on George’s face. He had to admit the bloody mess on Bastareaud’s face was gratifying as well, though.

After a few more minutes of meaningful glances, Owen was called over to the referee, along with Bastareaud and Guirado. He arranged his face in a suitably penitent look, but the twinkle in Owens’ eye showed that it wasn’t necessary. The Frenchman was swiftly red-carded for inappropriate language, but Owen conceded a penalty because he was the instigator. As he was turning to go back to the team, Nigel Owens beckoned him back and said quietly so that the mic wouldn’t pick it up, “That’s what happens if you’re homophobic in front of a gay referee!” Owen had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. Maybe the gay conspiracy wasn’t a thing, but moments like this still felt damn good.

With Bastareaud permanently sin-binned, the fight went out of the French team. England racked up the points and closed out the game with the title-decider set up against Ireland. Owen was buzzing. Maybe punching homophobes could be his new hobby; it definitely gave him enough of an adrenaline rush. He was soon dragged over to a television camera to give an interview – thankfully in English, given his D in GCSE French (even after all George’s patient tutoring). The woman asked a few generic questions about the win and expectations for the next match, but right at the end of the interview, she clearly yielded to her inner curiosity. “As a result of your spirited defence of George Ford from Mathieu Bastareaud’s homophobic comments, some social media users have hailed you as a champion of the LGBT community. Would you agree with that description?”  
Owen grinned crookedly before replying. “Fordy’s my best friend, and I couldn’t just let abuse like that pass. We’re a team, and that means we support each other in any way necessary. And before you ask, yes, I am proud to stand up for gay rights. It’s a cause very close to my heart.” The interviewer thanked him, and he walked away.

Conscious that the cameras were still tracking him, he made his way over to George. “Mate,” he murmured into George’s ear, “you want to make some headlines?” The younger man’s eyes widened for a second, but then he nodded quickly, grin stretching from ear to ear. Owen opened his arms wide and George stepped into them, tilting his head upwards for Owen to place a short, sweet kiss on his lips. It was a brief moment, but one made all the better by what he could see out of the corner of his eye. Nigel Owens was standing there, looking like a proud parent, while Bastareaud was beside him, fuming.   
George looked into Owen’s eyes, corners creasing with happiness. Into the space between their lips, he said softly, “Well played, captain, well played.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pure wish fulfilment on the part of the author. Comments are loved!


End file.
